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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26996563">how (not) to wrap presents</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/laeveleve/pseuds/laeveleve'>laeveleve</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, M/M, but im posting it now anyway, destruction of innocent vases, kind of a christmas fic tbh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:08:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26996563</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/laeveleve/pseuds/laeveleve</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon is really bad at wrapping presents, but he's really good at impromptu sword fights (that is, with cardboard tubes of wrapping paper.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>how (not) to wrap presents</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Simon</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>I am fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible </span>
  </em>
  <span>at gift wrapping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not even funny, at this point. In fact, I’m about two seconds from giving up on wrapping the embossed journal I bought for Penny and just stuffing it into a gift bag when the lock clicks on the front door and Baz shuffles in, balancing two takeaway Costa cups in one hand. (One stacked on top of the other. I don’t even think he’s using magic.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hullo, dear.” He says. Casually. Domestically. He kicks off his shoes and takes off his coat, then he’s sitting himself down on the sofa behind me and reaching over my shoulder to pass me one of the coffee cups. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” I ask, out of habit. I don’t really have a regular order, so Baz often just shows up with something new he thinks I might like. (I always do, even if it’s just because he chose it.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Honeycomb hot chocolate.” Baz says, twisting the lid off his own drink. Coffee. Something tooth-rottingly sweet. I don’t have to be a vampire to smell it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I hum, taking off the lid of my own drink. It cooled down a lot while he was on his way here, enough that I can take a sip. It’s good. Sweet, but not too sweet. Good choice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thoughts?” Baz leans forward, stroking his thumb across the back of my neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pretty good. You have a real sixth sense for hot drinks, you know that?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Baz huffs a laugh. “So I’ve been told.” He pauses for a moment, finally seeming to take in the chaos that surrounds me on the living room floor. Thankfully, I wrapped Baz’s presents first, and hid them at the back of my wardrobe. They look terrible, and I’ll probably have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>re-wrap </span>
  </em>
  <span>them, but at least they’re not here for him to see. “Something tells me that gift-wrapping hasn’t been going too well for you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I grunt. Just another thing for me to fail horribly at, isn’t it? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” I hear Baz set down his coffee, and he slides off the sofa to lower himself onto the floor behind me. “It’s not the end of the world, Snow. Few people are </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly </span>
  </em>
  <span>gifted at gift-wrapping.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Baz tucks himself at my back, legs spread either side of mine. I press my back into his chest, and he winds his arms around my waist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me guess. You’re one of them.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I feel his grin against my ear. “Now, where did you get that idea?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bloody perfect at everything, aren’t you.” I twist my body around to look at him. Press a kiss to his coffee-flavoured mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Baz frowns. “You’d be surprised, actually. I usually… get Daphne to wrap my presents for me. She has a real talent for it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You got your stepmother to wrap your presents for your boyfriend last Christmas?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You say that as if I bought you something scandalous. Trust me, even Daphne is not too prudish for a recipe book and a new jumper.” I roll my eyes at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, you’re saying you’re crap at this too?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Baz grimaces like the possibility of him being “crap” at </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>is offensive to him. “I’m not winning any awards for it, let’s put it that way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I grin over my shoulder at him. “Just admit you’re crap at wrapping presents.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He narrows his eyes. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Never.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will you at least try to help me? I have to finish wrapping this stuff before Penny and Shep get back. I’m actually trying to surprise them.” Last Christmas, Penny found my Christmas present for her while rooting through my drawers looking for hand cream. (After I told her repeatedly that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did not have it.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine. I suppose I couldn’t possibly be making it </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He holds up my poor attempt at wrapping, the paper creased and ripped with tape sticking up everywhere. It’s a mess. He truly couldn’t make it any worse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Baz crawls out from behind me and crouches over the journal, assessing it like a puzzle. I guess that’s the difference between us — he’ll sit and study something, try to work it out, while I just dive in and hope it works out. (Tip: it rarely does.) </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then he grabs the paper I haven’t managed to destroy yet, and lays the journal on top of it. “That should fit.” He’s frowning. He folds two sides of the paper up over the journal, then holds them there. “Now how the fuck…” He mutters under his breath. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’m honestly astounded that he doesn’t know what he’s doing — like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>at all. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Has he really never wrapped presents? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s when I get it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I gulp. Baz is tugging at a different edge of the paper now, crossing it over the top of the journal. The paper is creasing unnaturally. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Baz wraps presents, he uses </span>
  <em>
    <span>magic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I don’t have magic. Not anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I don’t want him to feel sorry for me. Really, I don’t. I hate pity. But Baz is scrunching his face up, frowning at the paper like it’s personally offended him, and all I wanna do is wrap my arms around him and keep him there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s trying to figure this out, to do it without magic. For me. So that I don’t feel bad. (Which I don’t, not anymore. Who cares, right? It’s just gift-wrapping. It’ll all get torn off and discarded in a couple of weeks, and thrown in the bin.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I watch him struggle with a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love him. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He loves me. He really, really does. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I creep over to join him. “I think you’re supposed to — here.” I say, folding one of the edges of the paper into a triangle, curling in the corners. “Then you can just — Pass me some tape? — You can just…” I tape down one of the folded corners, and reach for the other. Baz holds it down while I tape it, then we sit back and look. It looks a mess, still. The paper isn’t folded enough to not stick up and look creased and awkward. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I don’t really care. It’s wrapped. It’s not going to fall out, this time, and Penny’ll have to actually rip open the paper to see what’s inside. I count it as a win.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We wrap the new fountain pen I bought for Penny, too (it’s in a box, luckily). I fold the corners and Baz tapes them down, this time. When we’re done, I grin at Baz like we’ve just done the impossible. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Baz is laughing, a little. I laugh with him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This looks like shit,” I say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Baz snorts. “Yeah, it really does.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I shrug, still smiling. “Penny won’t mind.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, she won’t. I dare say she might even be proud of you, considering that you’ve wrapped it at all.” Baz leans over the presents, takes my jaw in his hand and kisses me, tugging me toward him. It’s uncomfortable as hell on my neck, but I don’t care. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s the first one to pull back. “Let’s tidy this up before Bunce and the Normal get here.” He says, ever the responsible one. I press a single more kiss to his mouth and shift onto my knees, scrunching up the shredded paper into a tight ball in my fist. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When I stand, and turn back around to face Baz, he’s standing too — bent over picking up wrapping paper from the floor. I pick up one of the cardboard tubes left over from the wrapping paper, grinning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s the perfect target. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I swing the cardboard around and smack him directly on the arse, and he shoots upright like a startled cat. “What the—?” He spins around and glares at me. I’m laughing, clutching the metre-long tube of cardboard like it’s a deadly weapon. Like it’s the Sword of Mages. I try not to focus on how I miss the weight in my hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I should’ve known you’d be a bugger for a roll of wrapping paper.” Baz says, and shakes his head. He turns away to continue cleaning up my mess, and I follow him, bringing the tube down on his head with an echoey </span>
  <em>
    <span>bonk.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You—” Baz spins in place, and makes a grab for the tube. I’m laughing uncontrollably now, and it slips through my fingers when he grasps it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to regret that.” Baz says menacingly, towering over me with the tube clutched in his left hand. I step backwards, my laugh dissolving into a nervous chuckle. Baz’s gaze is hard. It says: </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve fucked up now, Simon Snow.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I’m weaponless, and defenceless, and Baz thwacks me hard in the shoulder, then again over the top of the head. I yell and try to escape him, only to trip and fall into the sofa. “Wait! Baz!” I’m laughing again, breathlessly, as Baz whacks me repeatedly with a tube of cardboard. “Please! Have mercy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No mercy.” Baz says, raising the roll above his head as if he’s about to come down for a final, particularly hard thump on the head. I’m quick, though, and I roll off the sofa and stumble around him, toward my brand new weapon — the other finished tube of wrapping paper, discarded half under the coffee table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I pick it up and face him, smirking at me from across the living room. He moves, so I move away; and then we’re circling each other around the coffee table, each of us waiting for the other to make the first move. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He does, and I block it. Then, I leap over the coffee table and attack, our makeshift swords crossing over like we’re in the middle of some kind of epic battle. He slips his tube out from under mine with a grin and hits me around the knees with it; they buckle, but I’m not going down alone, and I reach out and take him down with me.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We land in a heap — Baz with a muffled “Oof”, me on top of him. He’s still holding his tube, and I feel it thud against my ear as he swings it around. It disorients me enough that he’s able to flip us over so he’s on top, and then we’re grappling on the floor like a pair of five-year-olds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I escape Baz’s grip long enough to stumble to my knees. I knocked the tube out of his hands a while ago, and he turns away and scrambles to grab it before I’m back on it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s surprisingly enthusiastic, when he swings the cardboard tube this time. He’s turned half away from me, and puts his entire upper body into the swing, a menacing grin on his face. He’s having </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not that he’d ever admit it. I recognise the look glinting in his grey eyes — he knows he’s about to </span>
  <em>
    <span>win.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luckily, I’m still quick from years of training. I throw myself down fast enough that the tube sails right over my head — and collides with the vase on the coffee table. It vanishes over the other side with a crash.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>We both freeze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Baz is staring at me, still balanced on his knees with the wrapping paper tube in his hand; I’m staring back, sprawled on the floor on my back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then, my face splits, and I burst out laughing. “Your </span>
  <em>
    <span>face</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” I stick my hand out and point, falling back against the rug, and Baz swats my hand away. He looks horrified.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bunce loves that vase.” He mutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I snort. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Loved.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Baz glares at me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It just sends me into another fit of giggles. “Baz. It’s fine. Really. It’s not a fucking antique. She bought it from B&amp;M.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s still going to spell me six ways to Sunday when she sees it. Look at it…” He leans over, picking up the shards from the floor. “I can spell it back together, but she’ll be able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>tell</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He’s frowning again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I laugh, and sit up, tugging at his shirt collar. He puts the shards of broken vase on the coffee table with a huff. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, Baz. It’s fine. Do you have any idea how many ornaments I’ve broken with my wings? I’m surprised that Penny still bothers buying any.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He huffs again, but there’s a laugh in it this time. He’s smiling again, just a little. He lets me tug him toward me by the collar, and I lay back down on the rug so he’s leaning over me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop worrying so much.” I whisper. “That’s supposed to be my job.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then allow me to take the weight off your shoulders.” Baz says, gently. Then, he closes the tiny distance left between us and kisses me. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re so corny.” I tease him, when we part.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m being </span>
  <em>
    <span>romantic</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Baz insists, looking a little offended.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Corny.” I repeat, and to ensure I get the last word, I take him by the back of the neck and tug him back to my mouth; whatever protests he previously had die in his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I kiss him like the world is ending, but not because I think it will. Because I want every kiss with him to be like this. Full of promises; of affections. Full of everything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Full of love.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Baz is right. Penny isn’t exactly chuffed when she gets back with Shephard, and finds us snogging in the middle of the living room floor, surrounded by wrapping paper and the broken remains of her favourite shop-bought vase.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But when I look up at Baz, he’s smiling, and I find I don’t really care.)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wrote one fic and now I can't stop. Might require an intervention. Check back for updates.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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